Haunted
by ayanami-verloren
Summary: Death looms around nations, whether they recognize it or not. This fact is proven true by England and irks him to no limits.


**Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. Belongs to the genius that is Himaruya-sensei.**

**Author's Note: Yeah, I'm not dead, woooh! I feel a bit rusty in my writing so sorry but I had to get this out like right now. I share something with you guys as a 'treat' at the ending~ Please continue!**

**Haunted**

England was fine with seeing things others cannot. He had already grown used to it. He remembers when he was a kid only the fairies and the flying mint bunny were his regular acquaintances, besides the fact that all of his brothers can see them too. There is only one thing he hates about it.

Ghosts…

It isn't that he is terrified of them, well he was when he was still a kid but when Scotland thoroughly discussed about them, England tried his best to just get use to them.

Just like what Scotland said.

Still, England during those times thinks that ghosts are a lot different than the little people or elementals or anything in nature. They're souls. Remnants of a once living soul continuing to wander through the world.

They're different.

They're Human.

Well, at least once.

This bothered England. A lot.

He could see them hovering around the small makeshift towns, around the people. Some of them acted as if they are still alive. But they usually hang around, who little England assumed to be their relatives. England marveled at the same time unnerved him that these remnants of life, these spirits, are just at home in the light as any other living human would be.

Although some of them stayed in the shadows, forming a large unknown dark mass of eyes. This further terrified England. He could feel their gaze, whether on him or on his people.

England knew that ghosts have a single, most distinct thing in common.

They're fixed on the living.

Over the years, as England continue to realize just how different he is from humans, his fear diluted by the many, uncountable scenes of death around him, within him or even on his own hands. Ghosts became an everyday scene for England. He grew to be apathetic towards these phantoms as grew more concerned to conquering, defeating and making Europe as well as the whole world recognize him and make them all kneel down before him and crash them beneath the soles of his shoes.

There were also times he would see 'people' who gather these souls. Humans refer to them as reapers and they have been sighted in almost every culture England knew. He grew used to that one as well but he always heeds his brothers' warning about them. Never interfere with their job, never look at them in the eyes and never talk to them, at least when you can.

He had gotten used to the matters of death and soul. When humans die, it's either their souls disperse, free of all regrets and grudges or remnants of it remain.

Death, for humans is inevitable.

Death looms around nations, whether they recognize it or not.

This fact has been proven by England and it also irks him to no limits.

* * *

Situations like this happens to England a lot.

England watched the rest of the nations walk in the hall, ready for yet another World meeting. All of them, wearing different expressions.

But not all of them are alone.

He watched as Germany commenced the meeting to start, silencing the chatter in the room. On England's side was France and on his other side was two empty seats- oh, wait Canada is sitting on the other one…

That leaves America, who England knows will be late, as usual.

Green eyes surveyed across the room, staring as the others prepare their notes. England doesn't know if any other nation notices the transparent figures hanging around them. England sighed as his eyes wandered towards Austria, and Marie Antoinette hovering on his side. England is already used to the woman, who watches as Austria arranges his notes in order. England sees the woman giggle as Austria let out an exhausted sigh as the Austrian looked over to his side to find Hungary ready to hit Prussia's face with another pan.

Prussia, who isn't suppose to be here, only laughed as he dodges.(He's an expert at dodging those flying frying pans of death by the way) England watches as Germany manhandle the older ex-nation to sit down, with that look that betokens the headache that is sure to come after this day is over.

England also didn't miss Frederick the Great grimace as Prussia laughs at how Germany is 'too tight'. England and Fritz both facepalmed as Germany's face turned paled and the reddened like it was about to explode any second. England saw the former King of Prussia flinched as Germany tried to silence,*cough*choke*cough* Prussia.

England gave a small smile back as he saw Old Fritz, smiling at him albeit awkwardly, when he noticed England staring at him and his former country.

England's eyes went back towards the podium. The one speaking is Russia. England shivered. His green eyes staring at the Russian…

Well on the Russian ghost hovering around the Russia.

The Englishman cursed mentally as he tried to suppressed another shiver albeit unsuccessfully. The others sure were lucky not to see the cold and petrifying eyes of the tsar that hovered around Russia. England wonders if the Russia himself could feel the ghost cold, lingering presence. Arthur sure does even in this distance.

Russia started speaking, not even perturb by the entity that has gotten England daze. Of course Russia wouldn't feel him. England grumbled something like 'lucky bastard' as he tried to take notes.

Tried, usually means England didn't succeed.

Especially with Ivan the Terrible's gaze on him.

England gulped. He knew he shouldn't have stared at the tsar for the man is known for his paranoiac tendencies. But still, England couldn't help but meet the man's gaze.

England has always been curious of the man.

Ivan the Terrible is missing that 'smile' that is oh-so-common with Russia's bosses nowadays. But of course Leninism still wasn't around during his rule so it is understandable.

And Communism was already lingering on the minds of the people, conceivable but not quite developed.

In contrast to that smile was a serious look. The man's expression is cold and his eyes were even colder. It's prickling. England groaned.

Arthur sure misses Stalin right this moment. He froze when he saw Ivan hover away from Russia.

Hover towards him.

England is not sure if he should scream or stand up and excuse himself because, oh yeah that's right, A ghost of a dead paranoid Tsar is on his tail and wants a word with him.

Yes, bloody brilliant.

Brilliant as America in a box.

**BAM! **

Speaking of the devil, the conference room's doors blew open and America making his grand 'heroic' entrance. England could hear the soundless sound of Germany's temper breaking as well as the chilling 'kolkolkokols' of Russia.

And England felt the dead tsars glare divert away from him and towards the American.

All is well in England's world once again.

That is until he saw America making his way towards him to sit down, accompanied by the dead bloody tsar's glare and figure that once again hovered closer to England.

Only to be thwarted off by Mr. Lincoln's stare.

England slumped on his chair as he saw the tsar went on his but not before sparing him another look.

Well fuck the fucking dead tsar, he's bloody dead for goodness sakes.

"You okay dude? You look like you just saw a ghost?" America said as he looked at England's pale face.

Oh, the irony…

In the back of England's mind he wanted to reply that he indeed has seen a 'ghost'. But of course, America freaking out and acting like a coward wouldn't be good… right?

But that would certainly be funny, sadistic but funny…

England finally decided to keep quiet and mumbled out an affirmation. All thanks from that stare he got from the former American president. England stared again at the podium, Russia calming down a little. But England would sometimes stare from the corner of his eye the dignified figure of Abraham Lincoln. The man's head was long and tall, ears large and his uncomable hair. That strange dignified air around the man along with his grotesque appearance…

Yet another ghost that England is curious of.

The meeting continued smoothly for England after that.

* * *

England thought that the meeting was going to go nicely and uneventful after that. But of course he's wrong about that one.

Apparently, America brought forth the issue of the growing hunger crisis in the world, which led to opposition of America's idea of making hambugers rain from the sky.

Somehow that also led to France insulting England's cooking and chaos unleashed from that.

Needless to say, both England and France were reprimanded by Germany for their behaviour, half of the world going back to their hotels with a couple of bruises and Germany having another one of his headaches.

That was normal…

Also both England and France supporting busted lips and a few broken ribs is also normal…

"I'm leaving!"

That wasn't normal.

England stared as France walk out of the room, sour expression on his face. Usually he was the one who'll storm out of the room first. Arthur stared at the man's back, clearly baffled by France's attitude. He was about to heave a sigh when someone beat him to it.

England looked up to see a figure of a female.

Another ghost.

"He seems to be in a bad mood recently…I was worried that's why I followed him here…"

England stared at the Frenchwoman. He was genuinely surprised that the woman was here. It was a long time since he has last saw her ghost. And if it was a long time for a nation, it really did mean a long time…

"Jeanne…"

She is still how England remembered her.

Kind, dignified and free…

"Yes, Mr. England?"

England could hear her soft voice, that kind voice that belonged to the woman that made the personification of France happy…

Happiness of which he had destroyed…

"Sorry but I have to go, I have to see where Francis went. It's nice seeing you Mr. England." The ghost smiled as she started to walk to the direction where her country went.

England watched as the ghost of Jeanne d' Arc went on her way, soundless but graceful for someone who is no longer living.

A thought brought shivers through England's spine.

In this week was the anniversary of Jeanne d' Arc's death.

How could he have not noticed? How could he have forgotten?

Arthur felt a sharp pang on his chest. He shouldn't be feeling guilty because he knew that Jeanne had no grievance towards him. The woman was kind enough to forgive him, him, the one who had her burned on a stake…

One of the many people that has died because of him…

One of the many people whose death still hovers around England's being…

This is one of the many situations Arthur wished that he didn't see them…

Ignorance always makes Guilt go away…

Apparently that grace was never reserved for England…

_**Fin….**_

**Whew, finally managed to finish this one. This one is very hard for me because when I was writing this I feel like I was being haunted, like I'm totally not kidding. I heard someone walking in the fucking stairs(that one crept the hell out of me I swear), walking behind me(almost threw my laptop away) and leaning over at my laptop(I ran at this point). Needless to say, I glued myself to my bro until I finished it cause there's no way I will stay up in my room alone damnit! Not that my brother didn't know there is really something in our house(yup really) but he just have to be an arsehole about it...Saying that it won't bother you if you ignore it didn't fucking help for goodness sakes!**

**Also I think ghosts like it when you write about them, go figure...especially the ones in the shadows...**

**And maybe they also like it when you read about them too*smiles***

**Review~**


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